Steel sang again as the men tightened their circle, eager for the show. Caiden's muscles strained, but his strikes remained clean, measured, and deliberate, every movement calculated.
A cheer went up when Caiden twisted, disarmed Ewan with a flick, and pressed his blade to the man's chest.
"Yield, or I'll have yer pride strung up by supper," Caiden warned, eyes bright with mirth.
"Aye, aye, I yield," Ewan groaned, throwing his hands high.
The men howled again, slapping Ewan's shoulders and tossing insults that rang as much with fondness as jest.
Caiden turned, and his gaze drifted upward, drawn by something he had already sensed. Along the wall, Maisie walked with Norah and the two lads, their small figures framed against the late sky. She lingered at the edge, her hair catching the light as though the sun itself clung to her. His chest tightened, pride and hunger mingling, for she watched him, yes, though she tried to look away when his eyes caught hers.
A sly grin curled across his lips as he pulled off his tunic, then lifted his blade once more, this time against Callum, his fiercest fighter.
"Come then, let us see if ye can best me today," he growled, lowering into stance.
Callum lunged, strong and sure, but Caiden moved with speed meant to dazzle. Each strike was sharp, deliberate, meant not only to win but to display the force and grace of his skill.
The men cheered louder now. Caiden's every parry gleamed with control, each twist a dance of power across the yard. He pressed Callum hard, until their boots tore at the packed earth, sparks flaring when steel scraped steel. His eyes sought Maisie again.
On the wall, she shifted, turning as though to hide her gaze. He saw Norah leaned close, saying something that made the boys laugh, yet Maisie kept her chin high, feigning indifference. Caiden felt a tug deep in his gut, stronger than any blow of the blade. It pleased him to know she saw his strength, and yet it tormented him that she pretended not to care.
With a final burst, Caiden struck Callum's blade aside and sent him staggering back. He held his sword aloft, letting the cheer of his men thunder through the yard. But in truth, the only victory that mattered was the quickened beat of Maisie's heart, which he swore he glimpsed in the way she clutched the stone wall.
Pride burned through him, fierce and reckless, as he lowered his blade and let his eyes linger on her retreating form.
The next morning, Caiden leaned against the stone archway of the hall, his eyes fixed on the lass at the far table. Maisie sat straight-backed, her head lowered as she measured every bite with the same care one might give to counting coin. She never lingered over her food, never reached for more than she dared, as if fearful of taking too much. The sight stirred something in him, part anger, part guilt, for he knew well she felt herself a stranger there.
He made his way across the hall, the men parting to give him room, nodding as they returned to their chatter. He stopped by her side, resting a hand on the back of the chair beside her, his presence heavy enough that she looked up at last. Her eyesflickered like a startled bird, wary, cautious, and then dropped back to her trencher.
The lass has a way of slippin' through me fingers without ever leavin' her seat.
"Ye'll starve yerself if ye keep portionin' like that," he said, lowering himself to sit beside her. His voice carried a rough warmth, though irritation prickled beneath it.
"I've had enough, Laird," she answered softly, her tone clipped, as if the words themselves were a shield.
He narrowed his eyes. "Enough? A sparrow eats more than ye, lass. Ye'll waste away if ye keep refusin' to eat."
He watched as her lips tightened, but she did not look at him. "I daenae need more. I'm well enough."
Caiden studied her, frustration warring with the pull he couldn't deny. He wanted her to meet his gaze, to grant him even a flicker of ease that he had not erred in keeping her under his roof. Yet every time he reached for her with words, she drew herself further away. It gnawed at him, the guilt of her captivity pressed against the fierce want that drove him nearer.
"Ye've a sharp tongue when ye choose, yet now ye'll say naught to me," he said low, leaning closer. "Tell me, lass, am I such a beast ye cannae bear the sight of me?"
Her lashes lifted then, green eyes meeting his for a breath before she turned aside again. "I've nay words that would matter to ye, me laird. Better I keep them."
Caiden's jaw tightened, but he held fast. He couldn't let her slip further from him, no matter how she fought to remain distant. A thought came suddenly, bold, one that might coax her past the walls she built. He drew in a breath and let the words fall steadily.
"Then come with me. A walk along the shore this day. The air will do ye good."
For the first time, her face brightened, the shadow easing as surprise softened her expression. "Aye," she said quickly, her voice almost eager. "I would like that."
Satisfaction curled through him, sharp and deep, as he watched her light kindle. At last, he had cracked her silence, if only a little. It was enough to set his blood thrumming, enough to make him vow he would tear down every wall she placed between them.
On the beach, Caiden walked beside Maisie, his stride steady and purposeful, though his voice softened as he pointed toward the curve of the shore. "Ye see those rocks, lass? That's where the tide pools fill with crab and shellfish, good eatin' if ye ken where to look. We've nets set further out, but many a bairn learns first with bare hands at the pools."
He felt the pride of one showing his land to someone who cared when he saw Maisie's eyes lit with curiosity,
She leaned closer, her gaze fixed on the pools where the water shimmered under the sun. "And do the bairns truly pluck the crabs out with their hands? I'd think they'd be pinched sore!" she said, laughing lightly.
